


Wonderland

by hornblowerfic_archivist



Category: Hornblower (TV), Hornblower - C. S. Forester
Genre: Drama, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Graphic Sex, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-21
Updated: 2009-07-21
Packaged: 2018-05-23 15:32:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6121081
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hornblowerfic_archivist/pseuds/hornblowerfic_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Between Mutiny & Retribution and Loyalty & Duty, Horatio deals with the uneasy peace with the French while staying at a boarding house where the proprietor's daughter teaches him a new way to look at the world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Versaphile, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Hornblowerfic.com](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Hornblowerfic.com). Deciding that it needed to have a more long-term home, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in January 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact the e-mail address on [Hornblowerfic.com collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hornblowerfic/profile).

The winter wind, carrying a salty chill as it swept over the sea and through the icy streets of Portsmouth, rattled Horatio's bones, shaking him like a scarecrow in the bitter current of air. The uniform that had seemed so cumbersome, so damnable thick and heavy in the tropic heat now barely seemed to cover his slender form as if it were rags and tatters. It had, admittedly, seen better days; the cloth was well worn and was beginning to fade, his boots scuffed and rough from trudging about in the harsh English frost.

The small post office was crowded as usual as he lumbered in, feeling the warmth more from the mass of huddled bodies than from the tiny furnace located at the back of the building. He smiled as much as his frost-numbed face and down-trodden countenance would allow when he saw a girl, with her pale sea-green eyes, silken fall of hair as black as midnight and rosy cheeks, at the available stall. Collecting half-pay was a more tolerable necessity when he received it from comely young ladies.

"Aye, you look something a bit worse for wear," she teased, her full pink lips curving gracefully into a smile as Horatio stepped up to the stall. "Down on your luck, I'd bet," she commented as he pocketed his small amount of coinage. His eyes slid reflexively down the smooth arch of her neck to her ample bosom, so soft and inviting beneath her simple frock and the wool shawl she wore over it. Blushing, he returned his stare to her face. "If you're looking for a place to stay," she told him with genuine sympathy, a sentiment he had not experienced for quite some time, "there's a place kind to the likes of you. McCarttey's, just down the street and a turn to the right. Consider it, please."

Night was falling, the temperature dropping as Horatio sat on the small cot in the boarding house he was staying in. His father was dead; that was the first thing that had crossed his mind when he had returned to England. He was dead, the man he most looked up to in the world. Quickly, however, he had been turned from his grief with the urgency for practicality. His father was dead; he had only left him a small amount as inheritance and no place to come home to.

Really, he thought to himself, how much worse off could he be at this McCarttey's place? Before he knew what he was doing, he had packed his meager belongings and was heading out into the biting cold. He couldn't remember exactly what the girl had told him, the directions she had given him, so he wandered the avenue, hoping to spot a sign or marker for what he supposed, with a name like McCarttey, would be an inn. He found none. He was finally forced to ask, tired of feeling the slush crush beneath his boots. "You'll be looking for McCarttey's then," the man he had stopped laughed, looking him up and down, taking in his tatty uniform. He pointed him in the right direction and Horatio was not surprised when he arrived that he had missed the place on his first pass.

It was neither an inn nor a boarding house but what looked to be an old storefront. He entered to find the inside had been converted into a sort of tavern with officers of all rank sitting at tables, chatting, playing whist and drinking. They looked as he did: lacking in funds and alone, no family to return to during this time of uneasy peace. A fire was roaring upon the great brick hearth, creating a cozy, warm atmosphere. Horatio took a seat awkwardly, glancing around as he took the place in, folding his arms over the uneven wooden surface of the table. "Welcome, stranger," a pleasant Irish brogue greeted him and he turned to see a handsome middle-aged man coming towards him, walking somewhat clumsily towards him on his one leg, leaning greatly on a wooden cane to compensate for the lack of anything beneath the thigh of his other. "Lieutenant...?"

"Hornblower," Horatio answered, standing to address the man properly, "Commander, well, Lieutenant Horatio Hornblower, sir."

"Good to have you among our august company," the man smiled. "Lieutenant Eaemon McCarttey, formerly of His Majesty's service." He gestured towards his leg in explanation. "And you, sir," he smiled, smoothing his dark chestnut hair back from his forehead, revealing the distinct point of a widow's peak accentuated by his receding hairline, "are in luck. We've only one room left, and it's at the top which means the cold will be rattling away at ye." Horatio reached for his purse, expecting the man to tell him the fee of such humanity but Eaemon halted his actions. "You needn't be worrying about that here, Lieutenant. This is my way of repaying the brave souls who got me through this," he gestured again to his missing leg, "alive and back to me little girl, Alice. You look like you can use a good hot meal, you do! Sit and I'll get it to ye right away. I'll have me daughter run your things up to your room and prepare it for the night."

Climbing up the three flights of steep, irregular wooden stairs, he found himself in the attic room, stooping to avoid the low ceiling. His belly was more full than it had been in ages, his long fingers thawed from the seemingly endless lack of sensation they had suffered since winter had arrived. It was a snug little chamber, with an old cot draped in a patchwork quilt and mismatched wardrobe and table set. A shuttered, thickly paned window afforded him a view of the roof and of the alleys below. A lively figure was bent over the tiny woodstove, trying for her life to ignite the contents. She started when his footfalls alerted her to his presence, turning as her straight coal black locks fell about her. She smiled that familiar smile that reminded Horatio of a blooming rose in the spring--the girl from the post. "I thought it might be you," she said.

"Miss Alice, I presume," he said, inelegantly taking her hand to kiss it as he remembered the name of McCarttey's daughter. Her slender fingers were covered in ash and soot, most unbefitting for a girl as pretty as she, he decided, and fit perfectly into his large palm. "Commander Horatio Hornblower," he introduced himself. "Well, lieutenant, actually; I had not the time to claim my commission before the truce came."

"I hope you enjoy your stay here," she blushed a little, a shy little twinkle lighting her pale eyes. He felt his body react instantly, muscles coiling and tightening as the stirrings of arousal warming his groin. He had never much been a man satisfied by doxies; they relieved the urge but did not fulfill his greater needs. Here was a girl of about the same age as he, being twenty and seven himself, and the attraction between them was palpable. Though the idea of taking advantage of the daughter of a man who had just shown him so much generosity seemed distasteful. They stood there for several moments, facing each other in awkward silence before a clatter drew her attention to the window. She scurried towards it to make sure the latch was secure and glanced out.

"A storm's coming," she observed, glimpsing the darkening sky as the wind picked up, whipping through the bleak streets and lashing against the solid glass panes. "The Winter Queen is in a fury tonight; there'll be snow by morning, take my word for it." Horatio glared at her dubiously as he tested the cot, finding it to be much softer than that at the lodging house he'd been staying in. "Do you not know about the Winter Queen?" laughed Alice. "She lives at the end of the world, in her ice palace, and cries tears of ice. She rages that she cannot have the entire year to herself and flies from cloud to cloud, screaming her wrath at the world. And when someone passes on in one of her outbursts, she takes pity upon them and brings them to her palace, making them snow angels to assist her in her work."

"Who fills your head with such nonsense?" Horatio scoffed.

"It's just a tale, I know," she admitted bashfully. "My mother perished in a snowstorm and that is what was told to me. Fairy stories, silly really," she said almost apologetically, "but to look out upon a freshly laid blanket of snow... Winter can be so cold and brutal and yet there's so much loveliness, so much peace."

There was a simpleness about the girl though he doubted she was simple minded, an odd sort of innocent maturity conflicting with a willingness to believe in such fables and fabrications. She was illuminated by the obscured moonlight, haloed by the flicker coming from the streetlights as she peeked out the window then quickly secured the shutters, leaving them to the glow of tallow-light. "Why did her heart freeze, the Winter Queen?" he found himself asking.

"Why does any woman's?" she smiled lightly. "A man. She loved the Summer King; together they begat the Autumn Prince and the Maiden of Spring, neither summer nor winter. But he could not live in her frozen world and so he flew to the other end of the earth and left her. You play whist, don't you?" she inquired, glancing at his hands. Before he could reply, she answered herself, "And I bet you're good at it too. Got the mind for it and the hands. We've a few men who play whist, my father doesn't encourage it but they make their bets on it. The lucky ones earn their way out of this place and onto greener pastures quicker than the others. Brave Sir Knight is particularly talented with a deck of cards, though I suspect he cheats quite often."

"Brave Sir Knight?" Horatio frowned in confusion, wondering if he had indeed wandered somehow into an enchanted folk tale after all.

Alice laughed, realizing her mistake. "One of my nicknames I've given the boarders," she explained. "I call Midshipman Lorry Brave Sir Knight for his ship's last triumphant battle was against a French frigate named The Dragon. They slew the dragon, you see," she grinned. "He sleeps on the first floor along with the Scarlet Soldier, the Laughing Beggar and the Sea Dragon, he's a bit irritable in the morning." She retrieved a chessboard from one of the wardrobe drawers and set it up upon one of the tables, placing the pawns, to indicate where each man's room was located. Two rows above more, she laid out more of the pieces to show him where others slept upon the second floor including her father for whom she used the King in representation. "And Keira too, but I'm not supposed to know about that," she winked. The King of Dreams resides in this room," she indicated a square, "we don't go in there. And here," she placed a knight at the very top of the board, "is where you sleep."

He picked up the Queen piece. "And where do you sleep?" he asked, a bit of a naughty gleam passing over the engaging brown pools of his eyes.

"Anywhere I want to," she answered huskily, leaning in close to him, so close he could feel the heat of her body even in the sharp cold of the small room. She laughed as Horatio was slightly taken aback by her candor. He himself felt his cheeks burning crimson at her whispered suggestion, wanting desperately to take advantage of it, physically and emotionally; his body begged him to take comfort in her. She was buxom, comely with a pleasingly sweet manner and from the way she was looking at him, her beautiful smile like a blossoming rose, he knew she wanted him.

He bent forward and placed a kiss on her forehead, his body now aching with desire. He moved his lips down to her own in what began as a kiss one would bestow upon a favorite sister. It changed promptly as urgency and yearning took hold of the both of them. Her little hands slid beneath his jacket, feeling even through his waistcoat and shirtsleeves, his powerfully lean torso. The fabric was heated beneath her fingertips; his body alight with the flame of his arousal. She could feel him, hard as granite inside his breeches, his genitals aching and stretching to be free only to plunge into the silken confines of her wet hot lushness again and again.

He was beautiful, the force of his passion almost driving her backwards as she relished in it. His hair was so delicate like clouds as she ran her hands through his curls, the strong lines of his face focused, determined and yet so elegant in such an unusual way. She liked the way his nose squashed against her own, the way her lips seemed to envelope her mouth as his hands explored her body like an excited boy with a wrapped package. No, not a boy; he was most definitely a man in his caress and his desires. Her full breasts fit so wonderfully into his large palms as he took them in his hold, squeezing slightly, finding the peaks through her frock, circling them with fervent thumbs until she could feel them bloom unto hard little tingling nubs.

"No!" he suddenly broke free from her, his breaths coming in loud, deep pants. She watched him, confused, as he struggled to gain control of himself. "That was...extremely inappropriate of me," he stammered an apology, his face still flushed with their shared enthusiasm. "I am exceedingly sorry, madam, for my behavior..."

"If it's my father you're worried on..." she began, still looking bewildered at this sudden change. She was quite sure this wasn't the way it was supposed to work; she fancied him and her body had responded so delightfully to his attentions. She was sure he fancied her. How good he was, how admirable that he seemingly worried so much on her honor. She understood at last and smiled pleasantly at him and his protestations. He was as noble as she had at first thought him to be, as gallant as he appeared.

"Breakfast is usually prepared around seven," she told him cheerily, smoothing her dress out, "if you'd like a wake up call..."

"That won't be necessary, thank you," he murmured, even now mortified at his lack of decorum.

"I'll bid you a good night then," she said, kissing him upon the cheek. "I'll see you in the morn, then. Pleasant dreams," she giggled as she exited the room, her eyes swimming mischievously in the candlelight. Horatio lay upon the bed, breathing a prolonged sigh. Sweet dreams indeed, he thought, beating his pillow to softness as he settled back down onto the thin mattress.


	2. Chapter 2

Horatio awoke, realizing he had slept longer than he was accustomed to. Sweet, warm dreams had beset him all night, wrapping him in their luxurious softness and beguiling sensuality. Alice, he thought, reality rushing up at him like a bucket of water in the face. His room was cold as ice, a fire burning haplessly in the little wood stove; Alice must have come in this morning and lit the fire, careful not to disturb his rest. He warmed his clothes by it before dressing himself and, realizing from the state of his trousers that he was in no condition to be in public company just yet thanks to the enthralling charms of his dreams, he sat until the hardness between his legs lessened.  
  
He descended the steep stairwell, stopping at the second floor landing. He glanced down the corridor, identifying the occupants of each of the doors just as Alice had showed him on the chessboard until his eyes came to rest upon the last. Alice's stories buzzed around his head as he found himself cautiously moving towards the portal, touching the wood as if he could glean some sort of enlightening information about the chamber behind it. Slowly his hand fell to the knob, turning it gradually until the mechanism clicked and he leaned his weight against the door in an attempt to open it.  
  
There lay no unearthly threshold to some fantastic realm but an ordinary bedroom and, true to Alice's word, it was obvious it had not been used in quite some time. His footsteps seemed so loud in the undisturbed stillness of the chamber. Shadows moved and scattered at his approach like living things, startling Horatio as he moved. A broken mirror snapped beneath his boots, a gilded frame lay nearby the sparkling shards; it must have fallen from the wall some time ago. Beside where it used to hang was a small portrait of a lovely young woman, her cheer barely concealed by the serious demeanor she had taken on for her sitting. On her lap sat a baby and the rounded border proclaimed the piece's subjects as Lorelei and Alice McCarttey. This must have been Eaemon and his wife's bedchamber. The King of Dreams, he sighed sadly to himself. There was a charge about the air in the room, an apparition of darkness, of dreaminess. As the shadows closed in, he shrugged them off leaving quite abruptly.  
  
He once again continued his journey into the common room he had supped in last night. A few still loitered though a good number were absent, most likely having already taken their breakfast and now were going about their business, whatever it might be. He took a seat near the fire, happy to rid himself of the chill within his lean frame though warmth still remained in his body from Alice's touch last night and the wonderful fantasies he had dream of as a consequence.  
  
"Mr. Hornblower, I presume," a cheery voice sounded, powerfully merry in the dim, rather drab silence of the room. He turned to see a woman, a pleasant sort in her middle age with bright eyes, a warm Irish smile and a round pregnant belly beneath her frock, cheeks so rosy they matched her vibrantly colored hair. She was carrying three plates filled to brimming with food, all balanced upon her arms; breakfast, he presumed. She set the spread out before him. "Alice has been speaking of you all morning. Miss Devons at your service," she introduced happily, "though folk around these parts just call me Keira. Now eat up! I do say, you like more'un like a scarecrow than a man!"  
  
"Much obliged," Horatio managed a thin smile, scooping a fried egg into his mouth gratefully. "Delicious," he complemented, and it was so after the pasty and tasteless porridge he had been living on since he'd arrived in Portsmouth. "Where are Mr. McCarttey and Miss Alice this morning?" he inquired, expecting to see the girl's lively face appear at any moment. Or was that hoping? Had she really been speaking of him all this time?  
  
"Alice'll be at the Cranleighs' today," replied Keira brightly, wiping her hands upon her apron, "She's a job there on odd days, helping out with different chores. Eaemon is at his usual business; he's a shoemaker, you know. This used to be his shop, before... We're hoping to get off to the Colonies one day; all of His Majesty's soldiers, they need good strong boots to fight in, now don't they!" The low cheer of a 'hear, hear' sounded from the back of the room at this. "Alice'll be back before you know it, she left extra early this morn. If you need anything else, just let me know," she grinned, disappearing into what Horatio guessed was the kitchen.  
  
The scraping of a chair could be heard against the rough-hewn wooden floor and soon Horatio was joined by a man most likely younger than himself in a marine's uniform, the source of the earlier shouted approval. The Scarlet Soldier, Horatio thought, grinning a bit. "Aubrey," he introduced, brushing his thick red hair from his forehead and offering Horatio his hand.  
  
"Hornblower," Horatio returned, taking the man's hand and giving it a firm shake.  
  
"Infernal piece of bad luck, this peace is," Aubrey sighed, stretching his arms and resting them behind his head. "Don't happen to be good at cards, my good man?" he inquired. Horatio smiled and told him to fetch his deck.  
  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
  
Alice scurried in from the cold, shaking the dampness of the gently falling snow from her hair and coat. Horatio was just shaking hands with Aubrey, congratulating him on a game well played while the younger man cursed his luck and praised the naval man's skill, when he spotted the girl slipping in from the bitter winter weather. "Next time, Hornblower," Aubrey grinned, "luck will be on my side. Good afternoon to you, Miss Alice," the suave man bowed chivalrously to the new arrival. Horatio didn't like the way the rake was eying her.  
  
"And to you," she laughed at his exaggeratedly gallant gestures. "I take it you've finally found someone who can beat you at cards," she threw a mischievous glance towards Horatio, her cheeks coloring as she realized he was staring at her with that intense gaze of his. Suddenly she felt the cold shake from her body, melt like an icicle outside her window when she lit the fire there. Heat originating from her belly tickled her from top to toe at his attention and she once again felt the warm trickle of arousal between her thighs as well as her heart pounding as if it might break her chest.  
  
"Aye, indeed I have!" Aubrey chuckled. "Be careful of this one, Miss Alice," he winked, "good fortune is on his side!"  
  
"Duly noted, my Scarlet Soldier," Alice giggled as Aubrey brushed past her and retrieved his greatcoat from a stand beside the door. "It's a hard freeze out there," she warned as the marine placed his hat upon his head and opened the door, "Be wary of the ice." He tipped his hat to her and gave her an 'aye, ma'am' as he left, shutting the door firmly behind him. "Oh, I'm so glad I found you here," she said joyfully as she turned to Horatio. "A hard freeze!" she told him as if that was supposed to mean something special, something important. "The reservoir should be solid straight through," she continued, fetching something from the trunk at the base of the coat stand and holding them proudly up for him to see. A pair of skates. "They're my papa's," she informed him, "or, at least, they used to be when he was able. They should fit you just right!"  
  
"I really..." Horatio protested as she retrieved her own pair. "I don't know how," he admitted mawkishly, frightened of making a fool of himself.  
  
"Nonsense," she said kindly. "I'll teach you; you'll see how easy it is. Come on now, get your outside wear on; it's cold out there!"  
  
The dirty streets looked almost pristine swathed in its fresh blanket of immaculate white, a wonderland of winter able to obscure even the ugliness of the port's alleyways. Snowflakes fell leisurely about them, so soft, so gentle. Children played in the freshly settling powder, their spirits lifted despite the temperature as they laughed and built men of snow. One impish little rascal threw and ice ball that connected with Horatio's shoulder and tried to run as Alice gathered snow between her mittens to return the favor. She laughed as her own projectile pegged the boy in the back of his head, making him curse and shake his fist at them as Alice grabbed Horatio's arm and pulled him along quickly before the scamp and his friends could retaliate.  
  
Finally, they reached the reservoir that shone like a sheet of glass in the cloud-masked dim sunlight. A few couples were already circling the ice, a small number of children glided around the edges as their parents looked on. Alice danced easily onto the glossy surface after slipping her skates on, she moving smoothly effortlessly once around the pond and came 'round to look expectantly at Horatio. Oh Gawd, he thought, swallowing hard, this was it. With a small struggle, he managed to get his skates on and wobble onto the ice. He skidded gracelessly, his legs moving in different directions from where they should have been, bending and slipping every which way. Alice laughed, putting her arm around him until he gained balance. Little by little, she showed him how to steady himself and then to move, slowly at first and then with more and more confidence.  
  
"You're very good at this," Horatio observed as they slid along together, their arms locked.  
  
"I've been skating here since I was a girl," she told him, gazing into his eyes. "When we couldn't afford skating boots, I used to strap knives to my shoes and come out here and skate all day long." At last she felt he had become comfortable enough to show him some turns and spins. He whistled, impressed, as she made an elegant circle, her skirts twirling about her as she moved. Horatio tried to imitate her but fell flat on his bum the first time, by the fourth try he had almost gotten it, though somewhat less stylishly as his partner.  
  
"Will you go to the Colonies with your father and Miss Devons?" he asked casually. She gave him a nod in the affirmative and he ventured, "Does nothing or no one keep you here?"  
  
She laughed ay his clumsy attempt at discovering if she had a lover. "I've no suitor, if that's what you're getting at," she chuckled. "I had once, a naval man such as yourself. He was a midshipman, Jack Parker. He left one day to fight the good fight..." her voice trailed off.  
  
Horatio's heart sank; he knew too well this story, had witnessed his share of fallen young men, their lives and those who were waiting behind for them shattered forever by the blast of a bullet or the cut of a saber. "He didn't return," he finished for her forlornly.  
  
She laughed. "Oh no, he returned," she smiled sheepishly, "just not to me. He married a girl from London, Mary, I think her name was. I still have the ring he gave me," she confessed guiltily. "It's silly, isn't it? Jack Frost, that's who he is," she teased. "Though he won't freeze my heart!"  
  
Dusk was beginning to fall and Horatio determined that they should start heading back. Reluctantly, she agreed, knowing that the stew would be bubbling in the pot by now. With a sudden mischievous grin, she flopped to the ground, Horatio running to her in panic to see what was amiss. "Get away!" she said, scowling and laughing at the same time, "You'll ruin my snow angel!" She moved her outspread arms and legs back and forth until the indent in the snow imitated the wings and skirt of a heavenly body. Impulsively, Horatio followed her lead, dropping into an untouched patch of snow and making an angel of his own. "Wonderful!" she assessed as they both stood and appraised their handiwork. "Brrrr, I'm chilled right through," she giggled.  
  
"Something to warm you," he said before he was aware of what he was doing, taking her into his arms and kissing her hotly and tenderly. He intended it to be an innocent kiss, a brotherly peck upon her frost stinging cheek but his lips had unexpectedly and involuntarily taken a detour, her supple, rosy lips proving too inviting to pass up. Soon the velvety roughness of his tongue had gently began exploring and tasting her own.  
  
"Better than a hot tot," she flushed scarlet, a little breathless. Taking his hand as they walked unhurriedly back towards her father's boarding house.  
  
The common room was now busy with conversation and activity. Alice had disappeared to perform her nightly chores and Horatio settled in with a hot meal prepared by Keira. He played a round of whist with Aubrey and two others, Lorry and Carlson, until a comely chit appeared in the doorway and Aubrey vanished with her up the stairs. He knew now why Alice called him the 'Scarlet' Soldier.  
  
The hour grew late and Horatio lingered drowsily by the fire. He heard the unmistakable sound of Eaemon walking upon his one good leg, the scrape of his cane, and soon the older man was seated beside him. There was something of him that reminded the young Commander of his former captain, Pellew; an effortless authority and a stern sort of kindness as well as a dry sense of humor. It helped put him at ease. "Alice took you down to the reservoir this afternoon, did she?" asked McCarttey, lighting a cigar. The sweet scent of tobacco curling around Horatio's nose with its thick tendrils of smoke.  
  
"Yes," Horatio responded rather hesitantly. "She is...quite pleasant company."  
  
"Pleasant indeed," Eaemon nodded slowly, glancing at the fire. "Some, they take her for slow in thought, simple minded. It's just...she sees so much beauty in this world; it is a rare and fortunate gift indeed, especially in these dark times. My little storyteller," he smiled. "She's such an imagination on her, that girl; the fancies she comes up with. She fancies you, I can tell that," he smiled slightly.  
  
"Sir, I would never..."  
  
"At ease, lad," laughed Eaemon. "I'm not trying to put you on the spot. You don't treat her like the others, that's all I'm saying. You treat her with regard. Ta for that. Now go on with you, get yourself to bed. Everyone else has," he yawned and stretched and, looking around, Horatio could see that he spoke the truth; the room was empty, silent.  
  
He climbed the stairs to his room sleepily, his feet dragging against the steps as he leisurely began to remove his jacket. His attic chamber was quite warm, lit by the comforting glow of the wood burning stove and the bedside candles. He breathed a deep sigh, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his waistcoat. He started when an unexpected voice crashed softly through the hush of the small room, "I thought you'd fallen asleep down there."  
  
He spun around to see Alice lying upon his bed, her black hair spread against the pillows like strands of silk, her diaphanous gown revealing every curve and contour of her body. She smiled so sweetly and alluringly; her pale eyes the color of the sea after a storm. "Are you coming to bed or are you going to just stand there and gape all night?" she teased.


	3. Chapter 3

Horatio stood, taken aback by the sight before him. There lay Alice, upon his own bed, her hair like lustrous threads of glossed ebony as it fell around the thin material of her sheer bed gown; at least he thought it was a bed gown, it looked more like an under thing. She was smiling at him temptingly, the act of her sitting up to greet him causing her gown to tighten around her breasts, revealing their pleasing size and shape through the thin fabric. "What are you doing here?" he asked dumbly, clearly already aware of the answer.

She giggled. "I would think that was fairly obvious," she blushed a little. "I once told you that I sleep anywhere I choose to, and I choose right here."

This wasn't happening; this couldn't be happening. He closed his eyes, furrowing his brow as if he could spirit her away with sheer will power, but knowing full well that she would still be there when he opened them again. He couldn't refuse that he wanted her, not just as a woman but for the woman she was; lovely, soft, pleasant. But he did regard her very highly, as well as her father, and it would be a appalling slight to them both to seduce her and under McCarttey's own roof! She looked at him with such a sense of curious innocence that betrayed her experience, her eyes sparkling pools of azure as she reclined before him unabashedly. "Oh no you don't," he said sternly, finally moving from the spot he had felt he had been fastened to and scooping her into his arms, trying to ignore the undeniably alluring warmth and arousing suppleness of her body. He set her down on her feet and placed his hands firmly upon her shoulders as he glared into her eyes. "You can't stay here tonight. Go on to your own bed, I've no time for these games."

Games, she thought, a bit injured. Perhaps she had misjudged him, perhaps he was just like everyone else, thinking on her as a child who needs to be amused and endured until it was inconvenient. No, she decided, he was not like that; she knew it in her heart. Stubbornly, she shrugged off his grasp and strode determinedly towards the thick colored rug that lay upon the rough wooden floor in front of the wood burning stove. She sat on it, crossing her arms and jutting her chin resolutely. "If you do not want me to bed, I will lie just where I am until the morn. I will sleep right here!"

"Now don't be foolish," Horatio scoffed, becoming somewhat irritated. "Get up from there right now and be off to your own cot sleeping quarters!"

"You cannot order me about like one of your subordinates , Commander Hornblower," she said defiantly.

Fine, if this was the way she wanted to conduct this. He nodded at her tersely and, turning towards the wardrobe to undress, became aware of the first kink in his plan to let her sit there until she became bored of whatever she was playing at. Painfully aware of her stare upon him, he stripped himself of his waistcoat, trousers and stockings, keeping his shirt down around his privates all the time. He slipped under the quilt clumsily as he tried to do so swiftly. She chuckled a little at his efforts, trying to repress a grin. With wounded pride he threw her a single, slim pillow and a blanket, convinced that she would become tired of this diversion in little more than a quarter of an hour. He blew out the candle resting upon his nightstand and lay back, his hand across his chest as he gazed at the ceiling in the darkness.

An hour passed, then another; he had not heard her gentle footsteps upon the floor nor seen her enthralling shape steal through the darkness. He sat up and saw her still curled up before the stove, the dying embers setting her aglow as she shivered under the light coverlet he had given her. Dammit, he swore, he couldn't leave her that way. "Get in," he mumbled. She did not respond and so, with a sigh, he said louder, "Come on, little one; get in!" To illustrate his point, he threw the quilt back and swept his hand over the unoccupied space of mattress. She hesitated for a moment and then bounded towards the bed, nestled up beside him. He made ready to leave the bed himself.

"Where are you going?" she pouted. She couldn't comprehend his odd behavior, the cold, still manner with which he turned his back to her.

"It isn't appropriate," he answered distantly, trying to ignore the natural impulses of his body, the warmth at the base of his spine, the stiffening of his cock. "I cannot..." his throat had become suddenly dry. Gathering himself, he managed all the decorum he could. "I shall sleep in the chair," he told her, "It is not appropriate to share a bed with you."

Finally frustrated to the point of tears, she took a deep, shuddering breath in the silence that lay between them and at last let out a great sob. "I don't understand! You seem so aloof when just this afternoon I believed you cared for me."

"I do care for you. It is just that this is...improper, indecent, completely unsuitable," he said, trying to make her understand. He saw in the darkness the tears glistening against her flushed cheeks. She was so handsome, so uncomplicated; so much beauty in the world, that's what her father had said. Did she truly not grasp what this situation would mean to the both of them? "You are not my wife nor more whore," he bit off rather more sharply than he had intended to, "You do not belong in my bed; it would tarnish your reputation, do you not understand? This is not how people conduct themselves, it would be wrong!" You've so much to offer, he thought to privately himself, why would you throw that away on the likes of me?

"I don't understand," she repeated quietly, bowing her head. "Jack cared for me; he shared my bed. I care for you and by your own admission you care for me." He settled back down into the bed and turned from him, glancing at the frost obscured window, the moonlight trickling through like stained glass. "He does not want to lay with her either," she said softly.

There was a long hush as the statement hung between them, Horatio sat absolutely still as if deciding what to do. Finally, she felt his weight shift and his body rejoin hers upon the mattress. "Who?" he asked, wrapping an arm around her waist.

"The Master of the Sun," she replied, nestling into his arms. "The Mistress of the Moon, clothed in her silver mantle, awaits him every night but he will not show his golden head until he is sure that she has tired herself from walking the world searching for him. What they do not know is that they chase each other in an endless circle, like a dog having at its own tail."

"My mistress of the moon," he murmured, nuzzling her hair aside to caress the nape of her neck with his lips. His large hands slowly explored her body, the plushness of every curve. She squirmed, struggling to move within the circle of his embrace so that she now faced him. Their mouths met desperately, the dam of Horatio's reserve at last breaking as his fingers grappled with her nightgown. She lifted herself so as he might remove the garment, sliding it over her head to reveal the beauty beneath. His breath caught in his throat upon seeing her. Her naked flash was wrapped in a mantle of moonlight and frost, making her skin glow like alabaster. He bent his head to kiss each of her large, dusky nipples in turn, taking the fullness of both breasts in his eager grasp, kneading their accommodating suppleness. He suckled the brownish-pink nubs between his full rosy lips, clasping rhythmically around the firm peaks as his tongue lapped at their tips.

She groaned, arching her back as to offer him more of her flash to devour. He followed the trail of her pale body down to her round little belly, cupping her buttocks in his hands. Tenderly, he thought, gently; this was no harlot, this was a woman whom he held great affection for. He had never made love in this manner before; this was no simple release of needs and urges. Affectionately, he nuzzled the small rise of her stomach, teasing her as his tongue darted into her navel.

His lips moved southwards and her legs parted for him reflexively. She gasped, feeling the moist warmth of his mouth burrow into the black thicket at the juncture of her thighs, his heated breath caressing the dampened slit of her womanhood. She did not question his intentions; it felt so right, so marvelous though she had no experience with what he intended to do. This was no child's game, they were man and woman together; he was treating her as an adult, a desirable adult. A temptress, she thought, and almost giggled, partly from the tickling of his lips against her sex, partly due to the idea of her as the seductress of this stunningly beautiful man.

Horatio glanced up across the length of her body, his eyes deep, sensuous pools of lust, his sumptuous mouth quirking into a smirk. His thick tongue snaked between her dewy petals and he had his first wonderful taste of her. She smelled clean, briny and fresh like the sea spray upon his lips. The trickle that was her pleasure became a deluge and he lapped her silky nectar up with eager relish. She shuddered at the feel of his velvet organ slowly consuming her, running in circles along her sensitive flesh. He parted her creamy folds and discovered her clitoris, sucking it between his luscious lips and nursing the taut shaft with succulent kisses. She cried out, grabbing at the pillows, savoring each sensation he was setting upon her.

Removing his nightshirt, he laid his long, lean body atop hers, his height and length making maneuvering on the small bed a hassle. He could feel her suppressed chuckle rocking her breasts against his muscular chest as he settled upon her. He smiled, kissing her lovingly, nipping at the fullness of her bottom lip as his hard prick found its way between her thighs. She felt the throbbing column brush against her thigh and let out a trembling sigh, awaiting the penetration.

He guided himself into her smoothly, entering her slowly, unsure of the exact status of her innocence. He found no modest barrier within her to prevent his onward thrust. He gave her his cock an inch at a time, withdrawing and then plunging in again, each drive more lovely, harder, faster, each time. She wrapped her legs around his waist, inviting him in completely. He pushed into her with a blissful grunt, his shaft sliding in all the way and engorging her greedy sheath to the fullest. "Oh!" she cried out.

Concerned, Horatio halted his libidinous actions. "What?" he asked, his brow furrowing with worry. "Have I hurt you?!"

"Good green God, no!" she laughed. "It's just...you're so large. I didn't know..." she blushed at her lack of knowledge, "they came in different sizes." Horatio laughed and, screwing up her face, she gave his queue a firm tug.

He kissed her greatly, his tongue caressing the inside of her mouth, dancing with her own as he continued his charge . He was unrelenting as he pumped her, angling her body so that his pelvic bone stroke her clit every time he pushed in, his lightly furred scrotum giving her bottom a little spank as he moved, grinding against her each time he was wholly engulfed in her. She began to close her eyes but was so transfixed upon his face, contorted with rapture, his teeth clenched, his eyes watching her through half-lids even as she watched him. "Oh!" she cried out again, clutching his shoulders tightly and arching her body to meet each of his lunges. She felt as if his manhood had penetrated her womb, her heart, her very soul as she clung to him.

She quivered in his embrace as something inside of her burst, the floodgates of her satisfaction opening as warmth spread throughout her body, making her tingle all over with new, delicious heavenly sensations. He powered his plunges as her orgasm milked him, feeling her tighten around him rhythmically, until he followed her on the crest of the wave, tumbling over it as his seed came from him in forceful spurts.

Spent, he collapsed onto the mattress, rolling to the side as to not squash her with his weight and pulling her into his arms. Panting heavily, he wiped the sweat dampened chestnut curls from his forehead and should. He drew her strongly to his chest, feeling her burning cheek against his breast even as he struggled for his breath. He ran his long fingers through her ebony hair, watching the slightly moist tendrils curl around his fingertips. This was new, this feeling of contentment, of fulfillment not just release. He cradled her to him protectively and she returned his fierce hold.

"Tell me," he murmured as they settled their bodies down upon the mattress for sleep. The faced the window, the almost pale light of the moon reflected against the ice patterns coating the panes of glass casting ethereal shadows upon them. Her back was to him and he lay with his arm draped over her waist as he gently molded his body to hers, her bottom settling nicely against his lower belly. "Have you any stories of the sea?"

"Only of the lady whose lover sailed away from her forever," replied Alice drowsily. "She swam after him until her hair turned as blue as the ocean and her feet were as a fish's. To the ends of the Earth she followed where he had gone."

"What happened to her? Did she ever find her lover?"

"Yes, but then she could no longer live out of water. She died in his arms."

"That is a very sad tale indeed," he told her kissing her bared shoulder. "Have you none happier?"

"Perhaps," she smiled. "Perhaps."


	4. Chapter 4

The early cold of the season thawed somewhat as January wore on, turning the pristine wrap of winter into freezing rain and slush. Hornblower gathered in the common room as he had gotten in the habit of doing with his fellow decommissioned officers, ready for a game of whist. The Regulars, some began to call them, and Aubrey and Horatio turned out to be a stunningly impeccable team. He had made more money than he had expected he would ever see during this time of peace, though his honor kept him from winning every time; they were, after all, just the same as himself: down on their luck and waiting for the word of war to come floating back to them on the tide.

He didn't see much of Alice during this time, though early on, she would share his bed and tell him of places and things far away or imaginary so vividly he could not swear that she had not seen them with her own eyes. Yes, it is true; perhaps he had begun to ignore her when fortune had started to turn in his favor, loath as he was to admit it. He was often oblivious to her comings and goings and responded to her greetings sometimes with a nod but often times with a curt sound of disapproval especially when he had in his grasp a winning hand.

They did not skate together again.

One day, the Winter Queen, in her mourning, blanketed the world in a glittering mantle of white; a hard freeze had taken the air and ground and turned it once more into the Wonderland that Alice so adored. It was then that she showed up behind him, still in her mobcap from her time working at the Cranleighs, and looking stunning in her russet colored frock, her eyes like the sea of the tropics, her raven hair barely contained by the white cap she wore. She smiled and the room lit up, her full, luscious lips upturning into radiance. Horatio barely seemed to notice as a whole tenner was on the line at the moment.

"Come and have a skate with me, Horatio?" she tempted him, her voice as melodious as the music of a fiddle as she put her coat on. "The reservoir's frozen over and the sun is out."

He must have growled out something like 'not now' because she left without him, he could not remember and in retrospect that is one of the things that would injure him the most about the whole affair. He lost track of time as his winnings rose, and fell a little, and rose again. Before he knew it, it was night time and Keira was preparing supper. Eaemon arrived home and asked after Alice's whereabouts. Surely she must be back by now; dusk was turning the world a dream-like grayish purple and the air carried a bitter nip to it. She left hours ago. But a quick search of the place of residence revealed that she had not come back there since she had left --when?-- around noon?

Horatio began to worry now and guilt overtook him for his earlier terse treatment; he had actually been annoyed at her for interrupting his winning streak. He agreed to help Eaemon search for her and he was hard pressed to even remember where she had said she was going. The reservoir of course; skating. His blood almost froze in his veins when he spotted the figure lying beneath a fresh coat of falling snow. It was swathed in the tan of her coat.

At first he thought she was playing, making snow angels again, rolling in the snow. Winter was treacherous, he knew this, but dared not believe it. As he got closer, thoughts raced through his mind; she was teasing him, making him worry for no reason. Damn her, why was she not moving?! She must be asleep! In this weather? Cautiously he placed a hand upon her shoulder; she was cold. Tears already clouding his eyes, he turned her over. Her eyes stared back up at him; blank, cold. A pool of congealed crimson stained the immaculate snow where her head had lain and at her temple and that's when he knew. She must have slipped, maybe she had been caught unawares by a snowball. She had fallen and hit her head; probably hours ago.

At first he could not believe it, he spent at least ten minutes trying to revive her, just shaking at her and screaming at her... at her corpse. For that is what it was, not matter how hard he willed her to blink, to look up at him with that familiar gleam in her eyes and smile at him. He tried to pick her up and found she was frozen solid in the position she was in. He had no idea how hard he was weeping until he reached the lodging house. Keira and Eaemon had pretty much at that point given into the inevitable but the sight of her body made both of them weak with grief.

Horatio stayed for the funeral of course, he felt it his duty, though he could not stay at the service so sick was he with the thought of such a beautiful life taken so early and his role in it. If he had only listened, noticed how long she had been gone, had been with her. Damn him, damn him three times to Hell! He found himself mawkishly climbing the stairs towards the room, the room at the end of the hall where the King of Dreams slept. It was empty, no shadows lurked there anymore, no mirrors to other worlds.

"The dreaming is gone now," Eaemon said suddenly, surprising Horatio with his presence in the room. "There is no more dreaming now that Alice is not here."

"Will you still go to America?" Horatio asked him voice sounding dull and flat in the stillness of the claustrophobic room.

"Nay, kind sir," answered Eaemon sadly, "we spent every last farthing we had on the funeral and still she deserved more. I suppose the bay will just have t'come where we are now."

"No," Horatio said defiantly. He removed from his pocket his whist earnings and handed them to Eaemon, who protested at first until he realized that Hornblower was unmoving. "Please, let me try to make amends; let you child have a new life and if it is a girl, name it Alice, please." He blamed himself; he always would. Eaemon nodded, and shook his hand, complimenting him on his generosity. If only he knew, if only he knew it was all his fault, If the father could only understand that.

He watched as they boarded up the storefront that was the lodging house, watched in the freezing rain as the nailed the planks up. Keira and Eaemon were long gone by now; he had meant to see them off but the pain inside his chest whenever he thought of Alice had become all too strong.

He had found a place of board and had had to pawn his greatcoat in order to pay his rent for the first week but it was worth it. He was used to attic rooms, which is what he had been given at the Masons, and found the daughter, Maria, to be most agreeable, even if her mother was something of a lush and a nag. Really, the young girl almost reminded him of Alice, and he had loved her even if he had not done so well.

Winter continued and every time the wind blew the little panes of his room at the Masons, he wondered if it was a snow angel and if that wondrous little angel was his Alice come to warm her heart by his side or share in the chill that he felt when he thought of her in heaven, in the Winter Queen's Palace. In her winter wonderland.

**The End**  



End file.
